Always
by what the face
Summary: AU. Puckleberry. One-shot. Rachel and Noah lost a lot of people during the MHS Massacre of '12. One of these people was Finn Hudson. Since his death, Rachel has felt alone. One night, she is joined by Noah, who proves to be an always faithful friend when she is in need of his support. What Rachel doesn't realise is that he in love with her. T for language only.


Rachel can still recall the sound of her peers screaming. She hears them at night, especially. When she's safe in her warm bed and her fathers are watching television downstairs. She hears them talking about her, about the possibility of starting a new life in a different state. She doesn't want to move. She couldn't possibly.

Her eyes eventually fall shut. Her breathing slows and she is filled with serenity. She remembers a time before the disaster, a time where everything was still dreams and stars and Broadway and Finn; _always _Finn. She remembers his smiling face, the grin that overtook his features when he spoke to her about their future together. It had been a future that she hadn't been too sure about, but it had been a future all the same.

Now, as she dreams, she can't image a future at all. Images of blood and terror cloud her subconscious, pulling her back to the afternoon where the whole world turned upside down.

They'd been gathered in the choir room when they'd heard it; a cacophony of bullets, raining down on them as if they were in a storm. _Get down! _Rachel remembered Mr. Schuester screaming, his voice almost imperceptible in the sudden panic. She could still recall the clattering of chairs as they'd struggled to do as their teacher had told them. She'd frozen for a moment, stared at the door, unsure of what was happening. These sorts of things didn't happen to people like Rachel Berry. These sorts of things happened to people that she didn't know; people on the news. They didn't happen to her friends.

"Rachel!"

She'd twirled around, her eyes wide-open, to watch as Puck ran toward her and gathered her in his arms before pulling her down and behind the piano. The clearest memory for Rachel was the feeling of his arms around her shoulders, both of them shaking in fear as the screams echoed from outside the choir room.

Of course, some parts of the memory don't make sense. She can't exactly repaint a picture of what was happening at the time. She remembers seeing her teacher run toward the door, to try and barricade it, perhaps, but she doesn't recall him being shot. However, she'd seen his body. She'd seen the bodies of the thirty other victims – one of them being her fiancé.

Finn. He'd called out for her when the attacker had burst into the choir room. The largest amount of casualties had occurred in that room, she'd heard the policemen announce later on. _Seven dead. _Schue, Artie, Brittany, Tina, Kurt, Blaine and _Finn._ Although she can't exactly place their deaths at a certain point of time, she remembers Santana's reaction. She had crawled over to the body of her girlfriend and held her in her arms, wailing and pleading to God; _please don't take her from me. Please._

She wakes at this moment. Cold droplets of sweat latch at her skin, making it itch uncomfortably. Rachel panics momentarily before finding her centre and attempting to calm herself down by taking deep, even breaths. In. Out. In. Out. It's no use. Eventually, she gives up on attempting to slow down her heart rate. She rolls onto her side and stretches her arm out. Her fingers curl around her cell phone. The feeling of the cold metal is familiar against her palm, though it doesn't exactly soothe her. A part of her wishes that someone would call her – that _he _would call.

Finn. They'd been young and in love. They'd been stupid. _She'd_ been stupid. She shouldn't have agreed to marry Finn. Look where it had led them. This small, inconsiderate, malicious part of Rachel blamed the tall boy for her failed NYADA audition. It had been her moment – her time to shine, to take those out-of-reach dreams and pull them toward her. She was a star and she had been ready to shine.

She had choked.

And that had been okay. For a while. She'd had Finn. She'd had her back-up plan, and she'd had the boy that she'd deluded herself into thinking that she could spend the rest of her life with. But then the shooting had happened. _Death_ had happened. And finally, loneliness had enveloped her.

She still didn't understand. Insane, they'd told her. An insane man. Someone that she'd never even seen in her life had destroyed everything that she'd had left. Why? She didn't know. No one would know. After he'd shot as many students and staff that he could, he'd shot himself.

She strokes the glass screen of her cell, staring blankly at Messages (0).

She feels… numb. That star that shone so brightly, that golden light that illuminated her spirit and her passion had dulled to an insignificant flat, white light. Sure, sometimes that light flickered and turned gold once again – for example, when she saw a the photograph of the original Glee club in her sophomore year. In the photograph she was staring adoringly at Finn, who looked at her as if she were slightly insane. Whenever she saw that photograph she smiled. But then, when she turned away, the smile disappeared.

Almost absentmindedly, she types out a new text message:

To: Kurt Hummel

Message: I've got this photo from two years ago. You're wearing a denim vest and a trucker hat. You'd laugh.

Only when she presses the 'Send' button does it occur to her that she will never receive a reply. Though the deaths of all of her fallen friends had shaken her, the loss of Finn and Kurt had no comparison. She still remembers how Carole and Burt had clutched at one another at their boy's joint funeral. Rachel had planned to sing; but she found that she couldn't. In fact, she realises, she hasn't sang since the shooting, almost four months ago. Not even at Nationals – where New Directions had failed to place once again. This realisation is terrifying. She rolls back onto her back and stares, unblinkingly, up at the painted white ceiling.

What has she become? Without her talent, is Rachel Berry not _nothing?_ She guesses that she could still go to New York but she has her doubts. The move would just lead to more disappointment. Maybe, she should just go to Ohio State next year and get a teaching degree. She can become a music teacher. No. She couldn't. It would remind her too much.

Her phone buzzes. For a moment she freezes; solid ice. Could it be-? Of course not. She was being ridiculous. Oh, but what if it were! She can't stop the wide smile from leaking onto her face as she waits patiently for the message to load.

The smile disappears.

From: Noah Puckerman

Message: I'm outside.

Her mouth opens and closes in confusion as her fingers hover over the keypad.

To: Noah Puckerman

Message: Excuse me?

She jumps as a pebble is thrown at her bedroom window. Her phone buzzes impatiently.

From: Noah Puckerman

Message: Open the window. I can climb up.

Her legs slip out from under the cold sheets and into the even colder night air. She doesn't bother to put on a robe. The cold doesn't much bother her at the moment. She's curious. Her feet pad gently against the carpet on her way to the window. She unlocks the latch and slides the glass pane upwards; the harsh draught suddenly caressing her face. She looks down and spies Noah, dressed in his usual jeans with a black hoodie pulled up over his head to protect him from the wind. "What are you doing here?" She finds herself asking gently. She and Noah's relationship hasn't changed much over the past few months. They've hardly spoken, in fact, since graduation.

He's already scaling the tree that was planted rather conveniently by her window. "Couldn't fuckin' sleep," he replies gruffly. "Thought you wouldn't mind since I've heard that you're having trouble doing just the same thing."

"How did you know-?"

"Quinn. Said that you wouldn't leave her alone on Facebook."

Rachel huffs and crosses her arms over her chest as Noah pulls himself up into her bedroom. He dusts off his jeans before he shuts the window carelessly, brushing leaves and dirt onto her newly renovated carpet. She wrinkles her nose. Typical. Some people never change.

"It's two o'clock in the morning."

"Yeah," he chuckles darkly, walking over to her dresser and absentmindedly picking up and examining her various beauty products. When he holds the hairbrush that she used to sing into, she visibly winces. "Quinn said to tell you that when I got here."

"Well," she replies, matter-of-fact, "I guess you know why I can't sleep."

Noah's fingers trace the frame of a photograph of Finn. He startles Rachel when he slams it down angrily. "You got that right, Princess."

Rachel doesn't say anything. Instead, she stares at the flattened photograph. "I still don't really understand why it happened."

"I do."

She frowns. "How could you-"

"Shit happens. To me, especially. I always get fucked over." He sits on her bed, makes a provocative gesture and smirks at her. "Join me?"

She ignores him and remains standing in the same position. "This didn't only happen to_ you_. It happened to _all_ of us. We all lost our friends. I lost my husband and you lost your best friend."

"Oh, please. He wasn't your husband," he spits, rolling his eyes.

Rachel decides to ignore him once more. She walks over to her dresser and fixes everything that Noah had so carelessly knocked over. When she reaches the photograph of Finn, she makes sure to place it in the exact same spot that it had been in before. She smiles sadly at it for a split second, before busying herself with her hair in the mirror.

Noah watches her, annoyed. "What are you doing here, Berry? You should be in New York. You and me, we're the only ones left here in Lima. I mean, I always knew that_ I_ would stay here… but you? You're not Lima material, babe."

"And why should you get to comment on that? It's my life."

"Yeah. You're wasting it."

She's had enough. She turns on him, pointing her index finger at him angrily. "If you're going to upset me, you can leave!"

He raises his hands in the air in a mock symbol of surrender. "Oh, yeah? So you're going to kick out the first person who forces you to _feel _something again? Where the fuck did all of your crazy go? It's gone. _You're_ gone."

She glares at him one last time before turning back to the mirror. She picks up the hairbrush and begins to pull it methodically across her scalp.

"Can't even fuckin' answer me."

The bristles are calming against her scalp. She focuses on how they feel. Common, familiar. This is what a hairbrush is for. Hairbrushes aren't for singing. Not anymore. Her childish dreams are distant. This is reality. Life is harsh and it hurts. Save yourself the disappointment, Rachel. Dream little, achieve all that you dream. No one gets hurt.

He doesn't say anything as she gently places the brush back on the dresser then sits beside him on the bed. Slowly, his angry resolve begins to crumble. Rachel sighs. "I haven't even thanked you for saving my life yet. So… thank you, Noah."

"'S okay."

They sit in silence for a few moments.

"Do you miss him?"

"_Finn?_ Yeah, of course I miss him, Berry. He was my best friend."

"I miss them all."

"Me too."

"I miss Artie and the way that he talked. I miss Tina, I miss Brittany… And I miss Kurt and Blaine so much Noah that sometimes it physically _hurts_…" Rachel whispers, her eyes dry. "But then I think about Finn. I loved him. I loved him more than I've ever loved anyone in my whole life… But- but there's a part of me that knows that what we were doing was stupid. I was wrong to say yes to marrying him. It would have ruined my career-" She pauses, suddenly overcome with emotion. "I'm sorry. I know that that sounds selfish and that's what I hate…"

He doesn't say anything because he can't. Finn – his best friend – is gone. And there is nothing that he can do now. Noah likes to tell himself that he's tough. But, really, he's not. He's weak. He knows it. Nobody else could even guess at this, but that's not what matters. Ever since the shooting he's felt like a part of him was missing. Here, with Rachel, he feels as though that gap is slowly closing. Companionship. He's missed it.

So, Noah doesn't push Rachel away when she buries her head in his chest and sobs. He doesn't do a damn thing but wrap his arms around her and hold her. They stay like that for what seems like hours; but is in actual fact minutes.

"Are you scared?"

He looks down at her, puzzled. "Of what?"

"Of sleeping?"

He doesn't want to admit it – but for some reason he does. "Yeah, sometimes."

She nods. "I'm scared of everything. I'm scared that I'll dream, I'm scared that I'll wake up… I'm scared of being _happy." _She pauses momentarily. She chuckles dryly and wipes her nose on the back of her hand. Noah doesn't really mind. "You know what's weird? I'm scared of _singing."_

He speaks slowly. "That's why you didn't sing at Nationals, right?"

"Yes. I… I just can't- I can't do it withoutcompletelybreaking down. It just reminds me too much of them – of all of them. Not just Finn."

Noah nods. "Maybe it's something you should work on."

"I can't. I can't do it, Noah."

He nods once more. "Alright, Rach. Let's just focus on getting some sleep – singing can wait for another day."

They try. Eventually, Rachel's eyes droop shut and her breathing slows. Noah blinks sleepily down at the girl in his arms. He feels empty, too, but for different reasons. His best friend is dead and all he can think about is his fiancé. Noah is in love with Rachel Berry. He'd been attracted to her for a long time, but it's only now that he realises this. But she will never know – because Noah will do everything to get Rachel to go to New York. She'll leave Lima behind. She'll sing. She'll _shine. _

She'll leave him in the dust, along with Finn and Kurt and Blaine and Tina and Brittany and all of the others; where he'll slowly turn into a distant memory. The only time that Rachel Berry will remember Noah Puckerman is when she wakes up in the early hours of the morning after experiencing a nightmare fifteen years into the future. She'll sit up, panting, unbeknownst to her husband; who sleeps quietly beside her in their fancy king-sized bed. Beads of sweat lining her brow, she'll recall the sound of bullets raining down on the innocent children surrounding her; the feeling of his arms tight around her, shielding her from harm. She'll reach for her cell phone almost unblinkingly.

To: Noah Puckerman

Message: I can't sleep. I'm scared.

The phone will buzz immediately.

From: Noah Puckerman

Message: Me too. But I'm here if you need me. Always.

* * *

(a/n): Hello all. I haven't written anything in God knows how long because I've been suffering from the worst case of writer's block known to man and also the homework load of fifty Asian school kids (I'm not racist, I'm just joking with you). So, this was just something small written from a prompt a while back about a school shooting AU. This is a one shot. I won't continue it. As for updating my ongoing multi-chapters fics - no guarantees. I'm currently teetering on the edge of standard writing (hence what you read above, eugh), and my homework is not diminishing. Holidays soon, though, so then! Thanks and please review with thoughts!


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